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I admit it: I was not familiar with the preacher James S. Stewart.  But now I am.  I was looking at the BBC website, and came across an article about a preacher named John Stott, who died over the summer. I then read a bit about Mr. Stott and his life, and noticed that Billy Graham considered him a friend.  I then went to Youtube to pull up a few Billy Graham videos.  I then googled the "best preachers ever."  There, unexpectedly (at least by me) at the top of the list was James S. Stewart.

So, I eventually ended up at this sermon by Mr. Stewart, and thought it worth sharing.  Why?

• It is wonderfully written
• It is convicting
• It is inspiring

 Like most people in these days of digital delivery, I tend to think of sermons as either heard or watched, not read.  But this written sermon is as good as any sermon I've sat and listened to:

But the extraordinary thing was this, that neither with laughter nor with force, not with the massive arguments of her philosophers nor by the might of her thundering legions, could Rome stop Jesus. What actually happened was that Jesus stopped Rome, and on the dust and ashes of her broken splendour set the foundations of the empire of God which was to be.

The one name before which the Anti-God movement of to-day trembles is the name of Jesus of Nazareth. There is no modern Caesarism which can shoulder Christ off the page of history, or break His grip on the souls of men. After nineteen centuries, we still baptize our children in His name; when love and marriage come, His is the blessing we invoke, and His the altar at which we plight our troth; when all is over, it is beneath His cross we lay our dead, and it is in His message of eternal hope that we find comfort. Ten thousand times He has broken the chains of evil habit, and set the prisoners free. He has put energy and victory into wasted lives and souls rotting with sin. And there are those in this Church now who would unhesitatingly ascribe “every virtue they possess, and every victory won, and every thought of holiness,” not to their own resolution or resources, but to the saving might of Christ alone. The mystery of Jesus is the mystery of a power.

If you are so inclined, I highly recommend finding a quiet spot, turning off the TV and reading - preferably slowly - this sermon by James S. Stewart.  Powerful stuff.

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It's easy to forget how hard it is for many of our fellow Christians around the world.  It's easy to take for granted the almost frictionless religious freedoms we have in our country (despite the best efforts of the ACLU).

2,000 years on, people are still willing to die for His name.  I am humbled.    

http://www.fastcompany.com/1779611/priming-whole-foods-derren-brown

Do you strive to "buy organic?"  Are you attentive to where and how your food is grown?  Do you make efforts to support "local" growers?  Good for you!  I wish I lived closer to such grocery options, but I live in the sticks.  If you live near other people, in things called "cities," however, you might have access to one of the most popular "organic" grocers in America, Whole Foods.

I've never been in a Whole Foods, but I can imagine the vibe. Crates of fresh produce. Informational tags about cute families who produce organic whole milk from their cow in the back yard. Lots of green and soft yellow and orange. You know...vibe.

But behind it all, apparently, is a very well-oiled marketing machine, impeccably designed to entice customers to do one thing...eagerly spend money. Of course, this is the essence of any good business, so no surprise there. But the genius of places like Whole Foods is they do such a good job of creating the perception that you're spending your money on something special. They do such a good job of creating a perception completely at odds with the reality of their business.  We see warm and fuzzy and local and earth-aware and environmentally sensitive. They see dollars. So, how do they do it? Consider:

The prices for the flowers, as for all the fresh fruits and vegetables, are scrawled in chalk on fragments of black slate--a tradition of outdoor European marketplaces. It's as if the farmer pulled up in front of Whole Foods just this morning, unloaded his produce, then hopped back in his flatbed truck to drive back upstate to his country farm. The dashed-off scrawl also suggests the price changes daily, just as it might at a roadside farm stand or local market. But in fact, most of the produce was flown in days ago, its price set at the Whole Foods corporate headquarters in Texas. Not only do the prices stay fixed, but what might look like chalk on the board is actually indelible; the signs have been mass-produced in a factory.

And more:

Then there's those cardboard boxes with anywhere from eight to ten fresh cantaloupes packed inside each one. These boxes could have been unpacked easily by any one of Whole Foods' employees, but they're left that way on purpose. Why? For that rustic, aw-shuckstouch. In other words, it's a symbolic to reinforce the idea of old-time simplicity. But wait, something about these boxes looks off. Upon close inspection, this stack of crates looks like one giant cardboard box. It can't be, can it? It is. In fact, it's one humongous cardboard box with fissures cut carefully down the side that faces consumers (most likely by some industrial machinery at a factory in China) to make it appear as though this one giant cardboard box is made up of multiple stacked boxes. It's ingenious in its ability to evoke the image of Grapes of Wrath-era laborers piling box after box of fresh fruit into the store.

Ode to the joys of pure, unadulterated marketing manipulation. It surrounds us every day, even when we just want to go buy something good to eat.

The purpose of my trip was to travel to Houston to meet with my boss and a graphic designer to work on a brochure, and I was bringing all the photos and negatives for review. I had several binders, all organized and cataloged, classified and labeled. As a result, I remember I didn't get to bed until about 1:00 a.m. 

I woke very early, at least for me. I was scheduled to be in Houston later that day and had a flight out of Little Rock, leaving sometime just after 7:00 a.m. My flight would take me from Little Rock to Dallas, then on to Houston.  The drive to the airport was just under 2 hours, so I probably left around 4:00 a.m.  I don't remember much of the drive, or of checking in at the airport, but I obviously made it in time.

Once on the plane, I fell right asleep.  I'm sure I slept through take-off.  Somewhere over southwestern Arkansas, American Airlines Flight 11 crashed into the North Tower.  None of us knew.

We landed in Dallas, but since I was not changing flights, I stayed in my seat and waited for Dallas passengers to unload, and Houston passengers to board.  Again, I slept.  After a few minutes, I was aware of the oncoming Houston passengers, and could sense that something was amiss.  There was a lot of discussion about New York, and about the plane crash.  I had no idea what was being discussed, but I didn't think too much of it at the time.  I assumed a small plane had crashed into a New York building.

The plane pushed from the gate.  We began to taxi, and then came to a stop.  I can remember being a bit aggrevated, because I was ready to get to Houston.  We held our position for a bit longer, and I can remember looking out the window and seeing other planes taxi back to the terminal...odd.  Our plane began to move back toward the terminal, and the captain made the following announcement (as best I can recall): "Ladies and Gentlemen, due to the incident in New York, the Federal Aviation Administration has ordered all planes back to the terminal. Once again, all planes have been ordered back to the terminal, and all passengers will be asked to exit the plane. My apologies for the inconvenience."  The first hint of dread trickled up my spine. This was serious.

As soon as I stepped off the plane into the concourse, I realized it WAS serious. Nervousness and anxiety were writ plain on people's faces. Groups gathered here and there, and almost everyone was using their phone. There was a palpable sense of fear, but for what I didn't yet know. I wandered around a bit, unsure of what to do. I tried to find additional information, but no one really seemed to know much, other than something terrible had happened in New York, and it involved planes. I went to a few additional airline gates (hopelessly, as it turns out) in an effort to see if there was any other way to get to Houston. I was very confused, and the reality of that day had only just begun to make its way into my brain.

Then I passed by a television, and my world shifted. It took me a few seconds to process what I was seeing: There on the screen was a shot of both towers, on fire, billowing smoke. I honestly can't remember the details, but I think I came upon the TV shortly after the 2nd plane, flight 175, had impacted the South Tower. Certainly, for those around me, there was now no doubt these acts were intentional, that New York (and the United States) was under attack.

As I watched, it became obvious that, at least within the news organizations, there was a large degree of uncertainty and chaos. Reports of a plane hitting the Pentagon began to filter in, which of course turned out to be true. But there were also reports of other planes, perhaps many other planes, that had been hijacked, that were heading towards Washington and New York and other large cities. Like Dallas.

I can't remember how long I stood in front of that television, listening to the reporters as they tried to put together some sort of narrative. Rumors of other planes, other exposions, other disasters filtered in and out, muddying the waters. But what remained crystal clear and above dispute were the images of those two burning towers. As I watched, the disaster began to become more of a human disaster. My thoughts turned from national and political implications to the plight of those trapped in those two buildings. As the cameras zoomed in and tried to peer through the smoke, the extent of human suffering, high above the ground, became evident. Of course, I didn't know all I know now. I didn't know about all of the jet fuel, and the size of the planes, and number of people aboard, or about the destroyed stairwells. All I knew was that as I watched the television, images of fire and smoke and destruction, of death, were plain to see. It was awful.

Still, I watched the images on the screen. The image of those two towers, and complete dread about what else might happen, kept me glued on place. People around me were talking about how hard a helicopter rescue would be that high up, and how the firetruck ladders would never reach. How would those people be rescued? And when, at about 9:00 a.m. CST, the South Tower collapsed, I remember thinking, "My God, 10,000 people just died." I also remember thinking, "We have just been successfully attacked, on our home soil. We're now at war."

My feelings of dread and disbelief at that time are as clear and concrete as anything I can remember. My soul was filled with anger, certainly, as I began to put together the implications of what I was seeing.  But also a sense of despair. I can remember standing in front of the TV, with scores of other travelers, trying to look into the future to the next few days, few months, few years. I certainly didn't imagine all that would unfold, but as I pondered what the images on the television might mean, I knew that our country, and lives of all Americans, had just been altered to an epic degree. That sense of, "nothing would ever be the same" was almost overpowering.

I soon moved away from the television, unwilling to just stand like a tree. I began to try to figure out what to do, how to get out of the airport. No rental cars were available, and I had no where to go without one. Finally, I called my sister-in-law, who lived not far away. She agreed to come pick me up, so we arranged to meet just outside baggage claim. As I went to retrieve my bag, police officers were starting to clear the terminal...no, the entire airport. They were polite, but firm: Everyone must depart the terminal, NOW.  Find a way home, find a hotel, find somewhere to go, but get OUT of the airport. As I stood on the curb outside baggage, a police officer made his way through the crowd, asking each of us, "Are you leaving? Do you have somewhere to go? We need you to leave as soon as possible." I remember at this point realizing, for the first time, that the entire aviation industry had just come to a halt. No planes, no flights, no passengers, nothing. Again a sense of dread, a sense of being caught in the middle of something inexplicable and huge and dangerous.

I made it to my brother's apartment, and immediately began to make plans to get to Houston. My brother allowed me to use his pickup to make the trip, so after traveling to Dallas to get his vehicle, I began to head down I-45 to Houston. For the entire trip, I was glued to the radio. I sat and listened to as many news reports as I could, mesmerized, angry, upset.  I barely remember the drive.  In fact, I was so out of it that as I neared Conroe, 3 hours down the road, I realized I had left all of my photos and negatives back at my brothers apartment in Fort Worth. I immediately turned around and headed back. I was so captivated by the events of te day, I could scarecly bring myself to even care that I had just wasted 6 hours of driving.

Once I returned to by brother's apartment, I sat myself in front of the television. For hours and hours I watch the coverage, bouncing around with the rest of the country from news report to news report. Some were credible, some were simply rumors chasesd.  Over time, though, the events of that day began to crystalize. Four planes were hijacked. Two planes hit the WTC Towers. One plane hit the Pentagon. One plane crashed in Pennsylvania.  I stayed up late into the evening, watching replays of the footage, some old, some just now becoming available. I saw footage of people jumping from the towers. I saw the footage of the planes entering the buildings. And I heard, not for the first time, the words "Osama bin Laden" and "Al Queda."  I cried a lot that night, it was all so sad and terrible.

As the images of the wreckage of the towers, the estimated loss of life, the thousands and thousands presumed dead, as these things became known, I was sick with sadness. I stayed up until the early morning hours; I can remember the sun rising. At some point, my brother came in, we said a few words. I can't remember if he went to work that day or not. But I got into his pickup, and again drove to Houston.

Some argue everything changed on that day. Some argue that nothing changed, that America was knocked down but swifty got back up. I can see it both ways, but I tend to think a lot changed. We went to war. We renewed our appreciation for heroes, however we defined them. We began to ponder our place in the world as a nation, and to reflect on how our actions affected others. We began to examine what it meant to be an American. We became a nation on guard, for better and for worse. We returned to church (although maybe only for a short time), and "God" became someone to talk about. We, for a while, were kinder to one another, and echoes of that kindness still linger, even in these tumultuous times.

Yes, I think a lot changed on that day, for many, many people. Those who argue "nothing changed" perhaps argue only for themselves, I don't know. I do know that September 11, 2001, was a terrible, terrible day, a day that shook our nation to its core, and a day whose impact still reverberates. And although the details may fade over time, I will never, till the day I die, forget what happened on that day, that terrible, awful day of violence, and death, and suffering.

One movie, in particular, is worth mentioning..."Metropolis."  Why is this film noteworthy? 

• It's in German
• It's a silent movie, so it doesn't matter that it's in German
• The title cards are in English, so it REALLY doesn't matter it's in German
• It's a long film by today's standard...2.5 hours
• It contains special effects you wouldn't think possible in 1927
• It's regarded as one of the better movies of all time

It's this last point that caught my attention.  Produced in 1927, the film appears on a variety "Top Movie" lists, especially those that look beyond American film.  Furthermore, it's an early Science Fiction-type movie, a genre I enjoy.  So, I watched it.

At first I was a little leery.  I'm not sure I've ever sat through an entire silent movie, not even Chaplin.  And, in fact, it did take a little time to get accustomed to the experience.  However, I suppose it wasn't any different than viewing a foreign-language film with sub-titles.  In no time your brain adapts.

Soon I was engrossed in the story, the imagery, even the score.  The actors and actresses were absolutely compelling (especially the lead actress, Brigitte Helm, pictured above), and the special effects, imagery and scope of the film were pretty astounding, all things considered.

The film is hard to describe.  Perhaps part 1984 (the book), part Willie Wonka, and part Frankenstein.  Wikipedia describes it thusly:

Metropolis is a 1927 German expressionist film in the science-fiction genre directed by Fritz Lang. Produced in Germany during a stable period of the Weimar Republic, Metropolis is set in a futuristic urban dystopia and makes use of this context to explore the social crisis between workers and owners in capitalism. The film was produced in the Babelsberg Studios by Universum Film A.G. (UFA). The most expensive silent film ever made, it cost approximately 5 million Reichsmark.

All in all, Metropolis was a unique movie experience for me, and if you find yourself with 2.5 hours to spare and a Netflix account, I highly recommend this movie.

More Info: In 2008, a 16mm negative of the complete movie, containing 25 minutes of unseen footage, was found in Argentina.  The film was restored, and re-premiered in 2010.  Here is the trailer for this new, definitive edition:

Well, I'd like to say I now spend my evenings and weekends working out, memorizing scripture, learning string theory, and solving the Israeli/Palestinian conflict.  Sorry, no.  In fact, I still use the television.  However, I have been using my T.V. differently than before. 

To get started, I bought a wireless-enabled DVD player that allows me to stream internet content to my television.  With this marvel of technology in place, I now do three things, primarily, with my T.V.: Listen to Pandora, watch T.V. series I really enjoy (Law and Order, season 1), and watch documentaries.  It is the documentaries I've found to be most rewarding, and have actually spent most of my time in this niche (although I did sit through the entire 6th season of The Office one Saturday...a step backwards perhaps).

I've watched perhaps a score of documentaries so far, and have another 10-15 on my Netflix queue.  I've enjoyed almost all of them, though some have pushed the limits of watchability.  Here is a run-down of the documentaries I've watched, and a (very) brief review of each:

• Toucing the Void - Two friends set out to climb a mountain, only to find themselves in a heap of trouble. This true story of a man's fight for survival was almost too incredible to believe, and at times the story almost ground to a halt, but in the end I was left both amazed and disturbed.  Excellent re-enactments and narration by the story subjects.  Score = 85
• Food, Inc. - The first of several "food" documentaries I've watched.  Perhaps a bit over-sensationalized, but definitely eye-opening.  I've read a couple of food books lately ("In Defense of Food" and "The Omnivore's Dilemma"), and this documentary lent further weight to the disturbing story of how and what we eat.  Score = 85
• Man on Wire - This story of a French tightrope walker was an unexpected delight.  In 1974, Philippe Petit set out to walk a high wire strung between the twin towers in New York.  Featuring a wealth of interviews, footage of his training and preparation, and other ancillary material, this was a compelling and well-made feature.  Score = 92
• The King of Kong - This story of obsession, deviousness, ruthlessness, hope, despair and, ultimately, vindication centers on the most unlikely of story vehicles: the video game "Donkey Kong." Featuring a  real-life cast of villains and heroes who defy description, this story exposes many of the overarching elements of the human "drama" as they play out on a totally bizarre stage, that of competitive arcade gaming.  This is a REALLY good documentary that tells a story much bigger than its subject material might suggest.  Score = 99
• The National Parks: America's Best Idea - In typical Ken Burns fashion, this series of films (6 in all) leaves no stone unturned in examining the history and drama surrounding America's National Park system.  Stunning photography, compelling back stories and narration, jaw-dropping scenery...this series is produced at the highest level.  It sometimes takes a bit of patience to let Burns unwind his stories, but the payoff is almost always worth the wait.  If you love wilderness, you'll find this series well worth your time.  Score = 90
• The Cove - I'm usually leery of "activist" stories.  I typically find myself somewhat sympathetic to their cause, but disgusted by their tactics.  However, I found this story of a group's effort to halt a Japanese dolphin kill to be more watchable than most, primarily because the story struck a good balance between the story and the activists.  The footage these activists obtained was hard to watch (who wants to watch a dolphin slaughter?), but the film did a good job of providing context - political, environmental, cultural - for the story.  Score = 83
• National Geographic: Africa - This series of films from National Geographic (7 in all) presents stories of life in Africa, all set in different countries.  Each featured stunning photography, but what I liked most about this series was the fact that each story focused on one or two individuals, revealing what it means to live as an African.  A young boy takes his first trip across the Sahara to help sell camels; A pregnant mother travels with her son from Nairobi to her home village to give birth, while another women treks from far in the bush to visit her family for the first time in 11 years; Jungle-dwellers try to maintain their traditional way of life despite the encroachment of loggers and other outsiders; an Ethiopian man trains to be a priest.  Each story was very different, but taken as a whole they stitched a mesmerizing picture of what it means to be an African.  And, incidentally, I now consider the narrator, Joe Morgan (from Terminator 2), to be the best narrator on the planet.  Score = 95 
• Mugabe and the White African - This fascinating, though disturbing, film follows the efforts of a family of white farmers in Zimbabwe as they try to keep possession of their farm.  It probably helped that I had some existing background knowledge of Zimbabwe and Robert Mugabe, Zimbabwe's tyrannical president, but I don't think such knowledge is necessary.  The film does a good job of laying out the current political and social situation, and effectively shows how the insanity of Mugabe affects all Zimbabweans, white and black.  Once thing the film does not address, however, is a more historical perspective on how the white farmers originally came to Zimbabwe.  This information is, I think, relevant to the story and helps explain some things.  In the end, though, it is clear where the evil lies, and this story of fighting against such evil is important to watch.  Score = 90
• Greeks: Crucible of Civilization - The story of Greece and how it came to represent the height of civilization, as well as the seed of western civilization.  Perhaps it was the subject material, but I had a hard time finishing this series.  There were some very interesting parts, such as the emergence of Athens as a center of power, but overall I was quite bored.  I may try again when I'm in more of a scholarly mood.  Score = 77
• Blue Gold: World Water Wars - This film looks at the scarcity of water, and the privatization and corruption that springs from this scarcity.  A bit amateurish in some ways, the film nonetheless does a good job of detailing the many fine points of "war" over water.  Corporate malfeasance, national-level dirty dealings, price gouging, illegal water diversion...the film paints a pretty bleak picture for a resource most of us take for granted.  I did think the film was a bit too "high altitude" for my taste; I would have preferred some personalization of the issues...how do water shortages and price hikes affect individuals?  In the end, though, a worthy film.  Score = 83
• King Corn - Another "food" film, this one centered on the industrialization of (what else?) corn.  This film, though, has more of a "home movie" feel to it, and I like it.  Two young film makers set out to purchase and manage 1 acre of Iowa corn, and to follow it through the food chain to its ultimate destination...their hair.  Funny, gentle, simple...this film makes most of its noise through whispers.  In the end, the story is compelling and disturbing, but never heavy-handed.  Score = 94
• Food Matters - ANOTHER "food" film, but it started off so poorly I couldn't finish.  I have nothing more to say.  Score = DNQ
• Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room - The biggest problem with this film (produced in 2005) is that we all know how the story ends.  Regardless, I did find this film to be pretty gripping and disturbing.  Featuring lots of background "intel" about the collapse of Enron, and the despicable behavior of all involved, this film left me disgusted (again) with Big Business.  Most interesting to me, though, were the personalities involved: Ken Lay, Jeffery Skilling, Andy Fastow.  How does one become that type of person?  Score = 83

Well, that's it so far.  I would certainly like to hear of any other documentaries you might recommend.  My DirectTV is suspended until March 1st and I need to get busy!

Kitale is an agricultural town, surrounded by hundreds (thousands?) of small farm plots ("shambas" in Swahili) and fewer, larger operations. Our visit, in December, coincides with the tail end of the yearly maize harvest, and many people are busy sifting, spreading and drying the corn.  Piles of cobs sit here and there, waiting to be sold as fire "wood."  As best I can determine, the economy here depends on maize, although the strategy of a once-yearly harvest makes the area susceptible to 1) famine and 2) price gouging.  This year, however, the harvest appears robust.

The pace in Kitale is much, much slower than in Nairobi.  However, to my American eyes it still comes across as somewhat chaotic.  As elsewhere (everywhere?) in Kenya, there is a steady stream of people, bicycles, motorcycles, carts, donkeys, goats, cars, trucks and vans along each road.  Vendors crowd the strips of land adjacent to the road, selling all manner of goods and food.  Near the center of town, a large market is permanently in place, where hundreds of merchants offer clothes, shoes, bags, fabric, carvings...just about anything that can be sold.  People are busy going to and fro, trying to make a living.  For such a "slow" village, Kitale is certainly a lively place from my point of view.

To reach the Seed of Hope Orphanage, our car travels along the main road through Kitale, and then heads out of town to the west.  A short distance further, we turn right onto a dirt road.  And what a road it is.  Gigantic ruts, dips and gouges serve as constant obstacles, forcing our driver to creep forward, wincing each time the car's undercarriage jams against the road.  People, cows and motorcycles pass us, equally slow and deliberate in their progress.  The rain is great for the maize, not so much for roads as this.

Shortly, we pass the church and school used by the Seed of Hope, the Seed of Hope Academy.  We turn left onto a long, straight Kenyan road, lined by small huts and tin-roofed homes.  Groups of huts designate family compounds called "bomas," and several bomas line the road to the orphanage.

Soon enough, we reach the Seed of Hope Orphanage.  The compound is marked by a new gate, new paint and a new sign. The gate swings open and we pull into the compound, a grassy lot containing several buildings, a small playground, two water wells, a grain storage building, a tractor and trailer, and a seating area protected by a thatch shade.  Overall, it is a very pleasant place.

The reason we're there, of course, is the kids.  Oh, the kids!  As it is the break between school years, there are not as many kids present as is typical (although orphans, many of the kids do have relatives to visit over the break).  However, many of the kids I've come to know and love are present, and they come to us the second we step out of the car.  Sharon, Heron, Farida, Christine, Caren, Linah...all these kids and more surround us and welcome us back.  This moment, this specific time of reunion and joy, is indescribably sweet.

We've only a short time to visit, less than 24 hours, so we waste no time in greeting the kids and visiting the staff.  Also present is a small group of Germans, including the founder of the orphanage, Carsten Werner.  His is a fascinating story, which you can read here.

Carsten and the others make us feel welcome, share their lunch with us, and soon we're all sitting in the shade, laughing and sharing stories.  Carsten, who is phenomonally good with children, begins to plan a stroll to visit the cows.  (The Seed of Hope recently moved to a zero-grazing system for their three cows, but still puts them in a field on occasion.) 

The short stroll is a hoot.  We move down the road, about 25 of us, greeting the local families and children.  We make quite a spectacle, I'm sure.  We make our way to the cows, who seem to be doing great, and listen as Carsten explains some of the details of the grazing and Seed of Hope maize crops.  Apparently, the Seed of Hope is trying to get a second maize crop and is, thus far, quite successful.  After spending some time with the cows, we make our way back to the compound for tea.  ("Taking tea" in Kenya is one of the greatest joys in life, I'm convinced.)

Afterwards, Carsten motions for everyone to make their way to the Dining Hall building...apparently the kids and staff were going to gather for some sort of performance.  Having been here before, I figured it would include lots of singing, and I was right.  What followed was about 45 minutes of praise and worship, mostly singing.

How can I describe such a time?  Worship stripped of all bells and whistles...no drum kits, no guitars, no light shows, no song leader in strategically torn jeans and hair gel.  Nothing but the passionate, resounding voices of a few people praising God.  And what people?  People who have so little compared to us Americans, people who sometimes struggle to eat and survive and stay healthy.  People who go without the very basics of life at times.  Yet, these people truly love God.  They find the blessings in their life, they find ways to be thankful.  How much I learn from these kind, genuine people!

Knowing who these people are, and understanding somewhat how they live, I can't help but be moved, humbled and inspired by them as they sing "let your will be done."  Enjoy.

But fear not!  The staff I have met there on my two previous trips are absolutely amazing.  As has been my experience with Buckner, there are very competent, caring staff surrounding these kids.  Fine people looking after their health, their education, their spiritual life, their needs.  Good, good people.

And great kids.  I am beyond excited to see these kids again.  I just saw many of them in December and am thrilled to be going back so soon.

Finally, say a prayer for me (and the group!) as I'm going as the volunteer leader.  Certainly I have some anxiety about such a responsibility, but I'll be in the capable hands of Buckner in-country staff (Tom Alexander, one of my very favorite people in the world), so we should be just fine.  Still...

I'll update the old blog as time draws near, and hopefully while I'm over in Kitale.  Not sure what kind of internet access I'll have, but I'll do what I can.